Monsieur Candie
by neonntiger2
Summary: The backstory to Calvin's obsession with French culture. Calvin/OC
1. Chapter 1 - The Arrival

Calvin clutched his hand to his stomach as he watched the boat whose bow he stood so uneasily at being tied to the dock. Four white men, tall and marked from life close to the ocean, moved back and forth along the rope from the dock to the deck of the boat with the ease of birds on a clear day. Leonide came up behind Calvin and clamped a tight hand over his shoulder.

"Here we are," he said brightly, gesturing to the vast coastal landscape. "France."

Calvin shrugged Leonide's hand off to march towards the bridge to the dock.

"That Victorian is for you," Leonide called after Calvin, his outstretched hand moving from the landscape to the black carriage just beyond the dock.

A simple nod was the only response Leonide was met with. While Calvin dragged himself across the bridge to the dock and then finally onto dry, stable land, Leonide oversaw the handling of all of Calvin's precious cargo. His steamer trunks and hat boxes and luggages were carried off under his close supervision and loaded into a separate, longer Victorian that was stopped behind the one Calvin had just climbed into.

"I advise you to be careful with those trunks," Leonide told one of the dockhands.

"Yes, yes," the man responded, bowing.

Calvin turned in his seat. The dockhand's accent fascinated him. It shocked and aroused him. He pulled his telescope hat low over his forehead and closed his eyes as he sat properly in his seat. The tumultuous trip mixed with the sticky sea air left his stomach in dense knots. He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard, the acid rolling up and down the back of his throat leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He stuck two fingers between the buttons of his waistcoat and waited silently while his and Leonide's things were loaded. An hour under the sweltering French sun elapsed before the Victorians began their trip to the villa Calvin would be staying in.


	2. Chapter 2 - Geraldine

Relief from the heat came in the form of mojitos. Served in tall glasses and packed with ice and vibrant mint leaves, Calvin swallowed two before he even settled into his temporary home.

The villa came stocked with the finest help France had to offer a distinguished slave owner like Calvin Candie. A beautiful negress, tall with a sculpted face and long limbs, tended to Calvin as if he were a small child. She took his hat, took his coat, and combed his disturbed hair back with the care and caress of a warm mother. Calvin embraced the hospitality with quiet contentment; a bow, a smile, a tilt of his head. His riding boots were replaced with leather house slippers, which his negress carefully placed on Calvin's overheated feet.

"You remind me of my Sheba," Calvin said to her as she rose to her feet, Calvin's boots in her hands.

"Thank you," she bowed her head.

"You got a name, girl?"

"Name?" She repeated, accent thick. The same feeling of upsetting fascination Calvin felt at the docks rumbled in his gut again. "My name Geraldine."

"Geraldine," Calvin ran his fingers along his jawline, his fingernails combing through his beard. "That's quite a mouthful."

Calvin looked Geraldine up and down as he considered the taste of her name on his tongue. Geraldine. Such a proper name for a slave, he thought to himself, eyebrows raising.

"Geraldine," Calvin nodded after a long pause. He waved his hand to dismiss her. "That'll be all for now."

Geraldine bowed her head and curtseyed before backing out of the room. Calvin watched her every move, his eyes fixed on the way her dark legs moved beneath the sheer white cotton gown she wore. She appeared almost as a nurse in such pristine clothing. He gave his beard another scratch and crossed the living room he stood in to the terrace. Leonide stood at the balcony holding a mojito and a cigarette.

"Calvin," he said jovially, looking towards his friend. "Has your stomach settled?"

"Yes, quite nicely," he nodded, the pads of his fingers brushing down the polished buttons of his waistcoat. "The wonders of a spirit."

Leonide raised his glass in agreement.

"Have you met Geraldine?" he asked.

Calvin reached into his vest to pull out a short, black cigarette holder. Leonide wasted no time in providing a freshly lit cigarette to the man, placing it into the end of the holder that Calvin now had clenched between his browned teeth. The younger man took a deep drag and expelled the smoke through his flared nostrils.

"The head negress?" Leonide asked.

"Yes, in the white gown," he said.

"She took my hat, my coat," he nodded. "Quiet woman."

"Reminds me of my Sheba," he bit down on the end of his cigarette holder.

"What did you say her name was, Calvin?"

"Geraldine."

"I say," he chuckled. "The French are fond of that kind of name, you know. That's the third name I've heard today that ends with that -ine sound."

"Who were the first two?"

"The other two women staying here," Leonide responded. He took a small sip from his mojito. "White women."

"Are you going to tell me their names, Mr. Moguy?"

"Oh, of course," he huffed. "Maxine and Josephine."

"Josephine," Calvin considered the name now just as he had chewed on Geraldine's name a moment earlier. "That's a fine name. Rolls right off the tongue, don't it? Josephine," Calvin gestured loosely, his rings catching the sun and sparkling in Leonide's eyes.

"A fine name," he echoed.

Calvin pulled his cigarette holder from his mouth between pinched fingers. He shook the ash off the end of his cigarette and looked out at the landscape. The ocean, the beach. It was a drastic change from the plantation he was so accustomed to overlooking from his bedroom terrace. Instead of black bodies hunched over in the fields, he saw white folk near the water with their children, their little figures splashing in and out of the refreshing tide. Calvin drew in a deep inhale of his cigarette and held the smoke until it burned his lungs.

"Josephine," he said again. "A fine name."


	3. Chapter 3 - A Clash of Character

"Escargot," Geraldine announced cordially as four servants lowered four platters onto the table — one at each end with two in the centre.

Calvin leaned forward in his chair and gestured to the silver dish with his cigarette holder. "What are these?" he looked up at Geraldine.

"Escar—"

"In English, girl."

"Snails."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Snails, Mister Candie."

"Snails?"

"These are a delicacy here in France," Leonide said as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a cream coloured napkin. "Only served to the finest of company."

"Snails," Calvin's thick brow furrowed with deep displeasure. "I see."

He removed his cigarette from the end of its holder and stubbed it out in the centre of his empty plate with more force than required. He rose with the same kind of ferocity, the abrupt sound of his heavy chair scraping back across the wood causing the eyes of the guests at the table to gaze upon the disgruntled man. Calvin appeared unfazed by the interruption he had just caused.

"Uh-uh," Calvin wagged his finger at Geraldine as she stepped towards him. "That will not be necessary. I've had my fill for the evening," he offered the expectant company. "I will be retiring to my quarters now. Good night."

He bowed his head with exaggerated formality before abandoning his place at the head of the table. Leonide called after Calvin to bid him a good night, but his words fell on deaf ears. Calvin was in the foyer with one goal in mind — shedding his attire and diving between the fresh linens of his bed.

The sparse candle arrangements left Calvin wandering through intervals of darkness in the unfamiliar villa as he ascended the long staircase. The lack of light on the top floor had Calvin dragging his hand along the wall to find the door to his bedroom. First room. Second room. Third room. His room. He lowered his hand until he reached the cool handle. Another burst of excessive force saw him explode into the room as though appearing on stage in a concert hall. He closed the door behind him with the heel of his boot and began undoing the buttons of his coat.

A velvety voice cut through the darkness with a heavy "Pardon". Calvin's fingers lingered at the hem of his coat, his eyes darting around in an attempt to discern a figure to pair with the voice.

"Pardon me," he huffed, sounding like he had just been caught in a devious act. He fumbled for his book of matches, pulling one out and striking it.

The tiny object did little to illuminate the room. Calvin held it up hoping to extend its reach, but the small flicker was no match against the heavy blackness of the bedroom. A crack and sizzle filled the silence and gave shape to the face of a woman leaning over a freshly lit candle on the bedside table. Calvin looked at her.

He spoke first, his voice softer in tone than before. "Pardon me."

The woman shook her head as her thick lips curled into a disarming smile. She held her hand up the same way Calvin had his up with the match and blew gently against her fingers. Confusion filled him until he felt the searing of the match's flame caress the tip of his thumb and index finger. He hissed out an obscenity and shook his hand, Calvin's frame dissolving into darkness. He dropped the match and stepped towards the woman on the bed.

"I apologize for the intrusion," he said, his body coming into view as he neared the candle's glow.

She waved a lazy hand to dismiss the apology.

"I was under the impression that this was my bedroom, you see."

Standing above the candle, the light caught on his cheekbones and cast a shadow that left his eyes as two black hollows in his face. He appeared as a sinister figure before her, the malevolence in his face equal parts arousing and disheartening. The woman shifted on the bed so that she lay on her side, her elbow on her pillow and her cheek in the palm of her hand.

"In the instance that it is I who is the intruder in this room," she said, the flame of the candle dancing to the movement of her breath. "Would I be expected to remove myself?"

"Well," Calvin's hands landed on his chest, his thumbs hooking into the armholes of his waistcoat, "that depends on you feel."

"How I feel?"

"About sharing your bed with a strange man."

She sat up now, interest colouring her features. With pursed lips, she continued. "In the instance that it is you who is the intruder in this room."

A smile appeared from under Calvin's moustache and the shadow that fell across his eyes deepened. "Would you expect me to remove myself?"

"Well," the woman mirrored Calvin's gesture of placing his hands at his chest on her own bosom. "That depends on how you feel about sharing your bed with a strange woman."

Hearing the words he had just uttered repeated back to him wrapped deliciously in a thick local accent made the skin around his collar tingle. He tilted his head sideways and moved his hands down his front to the belt of his trousers.

"A strange woman to me, you are not," he told her with a coy smile.

She cocked her dark brow.

"Josephine," he bent over to offer his hand to her. "You were mentioned during the dinner service by your friend Maxine."

Josephine raised her hand for Calvin to take. He brought her fingers to his lips but frowned when she withdrew and left him kissing his own hand. He looked at her, embarrassment knocking the smile from his face.

"You are still a stranger to me."

"I go by the name of Calvin J. Candie," he stood up straight, his voice plump with dignity. "But you may call me Calvin."

Considering for a moment, she shook her head. "Monsieur Candie."

She lifted her hand back up for Calvin to take, which he did without a moment of thought. He looked at her with a new smile forming in the corners of his mouth as he held her fingers with vice-grip tightness. She was startled by his grip, her breath catching in her throat. Feeling the scratch of Calvin's moustache against her knuckles, her eyes darkened with devilish playfulness. She jerked her hand up, her fingers bumping his nose.

"Goodness gracious," Calvin hissed, each syllable filled with impatient annoyance. "You are quite a character."

Josephine withdrew her hand with the ease of receding tide and brought her fingers to her tongue. Calvin's eyes followed her hand to the candle where she extinguished its flame between pinched fingers. His muscles twitched when he felt her fingers slide between the buttons of his waistcoat to pull him down onto the bed.


	4. Chapter 4 - Good Morning

Calvin became aware of the morning when he felt the heat of the sun beating down on his face. His eyes fluttered as he raised his hand to shield the blinding light enough for him to see. He vocalized his disapproval as a grunt that melted into a groan when he noticed how sheer the curtains were. He rolled over abruptly, yanking the thin linen sheet that had gathered at his waist over his shoulders.

Josephine stirred feeling Calvin beside her. The sudden absence of a cover across her nude frame left her shivering and very suddenly awake.

"Monsieur," she purred, voice raspy from sleep.

She slid her hand up from his hip to his shoulders to grab a handful of the sheet. She pulled it from him just as brusquely as he had from her, the gesture eliciting another groan from Calvin.

"This is my bed, goddamnit," he mumbled, rolling onto his back. "I will enjoy as much of the linens as I goddamn well please."

"That is where you are very mistaken," she warned. Her grip on the blanket remained tight as she covered herself.

"Madame Josephine," Calvin sat up finally. "A good woman of the evening, as I suspect you are after last night's activities, leaves a man before the sun has blossomed in the morning sky."

"A woman of the evening?"

Josephine pulled herself into a sitting position to slink an arm around his bare shoulders. Calvin leaned against the touch as a flower would to the sun, but instead of warm fingers caressing the side of his neck, he felt the sharp edge of a small knife.

"Now, now," Calvin looked at her. "Let's not do anything to spoil the morning."

"This would not spoil my morning," she said, pressing the blade harder against the bulging vein in Calvin's neck. "The linens, perhaps, but not my morning."

Calvin swallowed. The blue of his irises hardened black as his brows knitted together. His gaze flickered up and down Josephine's face excepting to see a flicker of playfulness, some indication that she was just flirting, but there was none to be found. Her eyes were bright and clear, like blazing emeralds framed between thick, black eyelashes darkened by the smudges of last night's makeup. He was bewitched for a moment until he felt Josephine slide the blade across his skin; not hard enough to cause damage, but with enough pressure to make Calvin sweat.

His hand felt anxiously at his neck for the hot wetness of blood, but it remained dry. He looked at Josephine, clearing his throat.

"Get out of bed," she gestured towards the door with the knife she had just been holding against his neck.

Calvin caught a glimpse of the dangerous object held tightly in her long fingers. A small knife, no larger than her hand, fingertip to wrist, with a pearl handle. He wondered what a woman like Josephine needed a knife like that for. She caught him staring and again gestured to the door.

"Please, go."

"I'd like to stay."

"I would like you to go," Josephine said firmly. "Now."

"I'd like to stay," he repeated.

Before she had the chance to raise her hand again, Calvin lunged over and seized her wrist to knock her hand against the headboard until she released the knife. The weapon bounced off her pillow and hit the floor with a thud after falling between between the headboard and the mattress. Calvin pressed her hand to the hard wood, his teeth gritting together loud enough for Josephine to hear.

Nose to nose, Josephine felt the waves of heat radiating from Calvin's skin. His cheeks flared red, his brow slick with tiny beads of sweat. Shifting on the bed so that Josephine's waist was between his knees, Calvin brought his other hand up to her neck and pushed her against the headboard, the wind escaping her lungs in a gasp of surprise.

"I am not well acquainted with the culture of the French at this present moment," he snarled from behind clenched teeth. "But please, Madame Josephine, explain to me what the significance of your li—"

Calvin yelped out when Josephine slammed her heel against the base of his spine. He crumbled atop her like a house of cards. Josephine rolled him off and leaned over him, a fistful of his thick hair clenched in her tight fist. She yanked his head up to bring his ear to her lips.

"Monsieur Candie," she murmured, voice as soft as a whisper. "This is my house. You are a guest. Act accordingly."


End file.
